Shadow Over Us
by Eleutherya
Summary: He made her come with them, but they didn't realize that something was waiting for them . . . something that would change them forever. Thor, Loki, and Sigyn arc, set several years after the Avengers Incident.
1. Chapter 1

_**Sigyn**_

Her world burns.

Fire rims the edges of her vision, brushes the edge of her sanity. The heat is searing, an unbearable inferno of malice and rage. Her thoughts are set afire by her power. The ground wavers in front of her, the earth beneath her feet trembling in fear.

She is complete. She is whole. She is powerful.

_But a corner of her mind knows that isn't her._

She is not alone. Two figures stand before her, their silhouettes black against the flames consuming her vision. They are familiar to her, like ghosts from the past. They had thought her dead, gone, defeated, cast out . . .

_But I'm NOT dead!_

. . . But she had bided her time. She had waited. She had been patient. And now her revenge would soon be complete.

"Sigyn?" a voice calls. She bristles angrily. How dare they -

_Thor? She knows she spoke. But something kept the words from leaving her mouth . . ._

"Sigyn, what's wrong?" Now the other one. Do they know who they are -

_Loki? she tries again. What's happening to me? _

No words come out. Only a grating, hateful hiss.

"Concerned for your dear little friend?"

_She gasped. That - THAT - was NOT her voice!_

She sees the two men start horribly, jerking back as if her words had been a physical blow. The curtain of flames is dying down a little. The two figures are beginning to come into focus, their features sharpening, coalescing into recognizable faces.

She feels her face twist into a hard, cruel smile.

"The Sons of Odin have indeed grown soft if the plight of one girl can affect them so. You HAVE both changed, as she has told me."

_Told . . . whom? She hadn't told anyone anything. She doesn't even know what's happening! She looks hard at her two friends, who seem to be frozen with shock and horror. _

_That's not me! That's NOT ME! _

"Sigyn?" Thor again. He takes a cautious step forward, eyeing her worriedly. Sky and Flame meet, a contest of wills. Her anger flares again, her world now nothing but shades of red and black.

_Thor, help me!_

Another grating laugh. It tears like knives through her throat.

"Nay, Thor Odinson. It is I."

Thor and Loki glance at each other. Fear. Confusion. Thor's grip on Mjolnir tightens, unsure if he must attack or defend. Her smile deepens, hardens.

"Can it be that you have forgotten me? It really is too bad of you." But she is pleased. They are afraid. They are unprepared. All the easier to destroy them.

_She feels the presence of . . . the other. Dark, hateful, cruel . . . and powerful. An ancient evil. The magic of its being is thick, clinging. She feels sick. She tries to fight, to push back. It swats her away like a fly._

_Get out! Get out!_

"Who are you?" Thor demands angrily. He now begins to suspect the truth. Fear and anger swirl together in his eyes. The other, Loki, eyes her doubtfully, his hands clenched at his sides. He tries to appear as if he is not a threat. But she knows he is plotting.

"I am your reckoning," she mocks. "I am your destroyer. Your little friend has granted me the chance to speak with you again."

_The words are torn from her lips, unbidden, unwanted. She tries to shut her mouth, bite her tongue. But IT forces her to speak._

"What have you done with her?" Loki's voice is quiet, hardly heard over the roar of magic in her ears. Quiet, but deadly, like a coiled serpent ready to spring. Eternal Fire stares into Unmelting Ice. The girl is dear to him, she can see in his eyes. She will break this one first. She laughs again.

"Nothing. Yet."

Ancient magic gathers, liquid shadow clinging to the inferno raging inside her. Calculating eyes sweep over the pair of them. She licks her lips.

Loki and Thor tense. It is the younger who breaks the brittle silence.

"If your quarrel is with us, then release the girl. Surely she is nothing to you."

Ancient magic grows. Soon . . . very soon now . . .

_Don't just stand there! Run!_

"Ah, but alas, that is something I cannot do, little prince," she mocks. His eyes narrow. Loki, that's not me! That's NOT ME! "Like all puppet masters, I cannot perform without a body to work with. Your father robbed me of mine. So, in turn, your dear little friend will lend me hers for a time."

Their eyes widen. They share a knowing glance. They now see the truth.

The inferno rages higher. Blinding heat obscures her vision.

_She wants to run. She wants to fight. She wants to DO something. But all she can do is watch._

The blackness consumes her heart, eats at her mind. Magic throbs to the beat of her heart: Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!

_Loki! Thor! Run! RUN!_

She springs forward.

Odin's sons narrowly avoid her strike. Mjolnir flashes to her right. But he is too slow. She easily sidesteps. Green-white magic from her left. Silvertongue also misses his mark. He is too careful. Her hand shoots out, flames erupting from her fingertips. Fire meets magic.

Loki falls back. He is no match for her. Thor lunges forward. He is too slow for her.

She will destroy them.

_No! No! Stop!_

Her mind is blurred, her vision clouded by hate, by power. Her bare arm comes up too quickly for them to see. Black magic strikes back. The younger falls back with a sharp cry, clutching his hand.

Shatter him! Break him!

_Leave him alone!_

Thor blocks her strike at him, Mjolnir ringing in defiance to her skills. She dances around them easily. Her rage spills over, shadow changing to flame.

They tread their deadly dance. Attack. Retreat. Strike. Defend. Lunge. Fall back. It is a complicated dance, but one that she remembers well. She is alive again. Her magic all the more powerful with the aid of the weakling's body -

_Get out! Get OUT of me!_

Thor swings again. But his strike is too high, too slow. He doesn't want to hurt the girl. All the better. Makes for an easier target.

At last, a chance. The younger steps too close –

_She sees the blow coming, as if in slow-motion. She tries to pull her hand away, to shout, to warn him of his danger -_

Armor shatters, green-magic flashes uselessly, and a scream is torn from his lips.

Blood pours like water. It mingles with the lingering flames on her hands.

_She wants to scream. She wants to cry. She wants to fling herself over the edge of the world. Loki's blood burns on her hands._

The younger falls to the ground. Scarlet rivers run from his broken body.

_LOKI!_

Thor cries his brother's name. Useless. He knows well that there is nothing he can do to stop her. She will break HIM next.

Kill! Kill! Kill!

_Loki! Loki!_

Mjolnir flies at her again, surprising her with its speed. She only just avoids it.

She can see it in his eyes. How they mist over, how his proud features are twisted with agony. He has given up defending. He knows he must hurt the girl to stop her. Excellent.

_Thor, help me! Stop me! It's the only way to save your brother!_

He raises the Hammer again. The death blow is coming. She awaits it eagerly.

If he kills her, he will go mad. If his brother dies, he will go mad. Either way, she will triumph.

_She sees Loki's body lying broken on the hard ground. He has not moved. She prays he is not dead. If Loki dies, she will go mad. If Thor leaves her, she will go mad. Either way, she loses._

Thor lunges forward, eyes like steel, jaw set. She raises her arm. Fire burns down her skin to her fingers. Come and meet your end, Odinson!

Kill! Kill! Kill!

_If you don't kill me . . . then I'LL KILL YOU!_

He hesitates at the last moment. Mjolnir's bite misses its mark. Fire burns the air.

The God of Thunder falls to his knees. Blood claws at his armor like living death.

_She opens her mouth . . .and what comes out is a burst of maniacal laughter._

* * *

Sigyn's eyes flew open, a scream on her lips.

Horror. Panic. Guilt.

_Her world was nothing but guilt._

For one horrific moment, she thought she was still living the nightmare.

But the room was dark. The room was empty. She was alone.

There was nothing to fear. Not anymore.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breathing shallow and labored. Sweat poured from her face, the heat of demonic rage clinging to her like her nightdress clung to her skin. She resisted the urge to cry.

Her hands were burning, the flesh being torn apart, bit by bit, by the same terrifying power that had kept her locked inside her own mind.

She held them up before her eyes . . . and breathed a ragged sigh of relief. They were clean.

She sat up slowly, trying to calm the rage of fear and guilt churning in her stomach. Three days had passed since she and Odin's sons had returned from Muspelheim . . . but three days or three millennia still would not wash away the memory of the horror she had experienced. What kind of magic could turn someone into an unwilling avatar for evil? What kind of creature could trap someone within their own mind, forcing them to watch while they destroy and kill those they care about?

What had done this to her?

It was still dark outside, but sleep was impossible. She needed to think. She needed to sort through her guilt, her fear, the broken pieces of her memories.

She sighed and rose carefully from her bed. The Healers would surely object to her taking a midnight stroll alone.

Well, the Healers would just have to deal with it.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Loki**_

His world freezes.

Sigyn had been walking behind them, saying nothing. She had seemed uneasy about this place, eyes darting warily from side to side. He had not been worried about her at the time; she was always nervous about journeys like this. But he knew the right words to talk her into it. They didn't call him Silvertongue for nothing.

So he had walked on, a few paces ahead of her, concentrating instead on their surroundings.

It was only when she lurched that he senses something is wrong.

He turns to face her. She is bent nearly double, in a half-crouch low to the ground. At first he thinks she merely stumbled, caught her ankle on a loose stone. But as the seconds pass, and she does not straighten, he begins to worry.

"Sigyn?" he hears Thor ask. He is further ahead than they are. Always the first into danger . . . and the last to recognize it.

She does not answer. Her back is arched, tense, head bent low as if in pain. Her arms are tight to her sides, fingers curling in on themselves. Beneath the cascades of liquid sunshine, he sees her neck muscles tightening, her chest laboring as if every breath was a monumental effort.

He frowns. Sigyn was always straight, filled with poise and grace that would draw envy from the greatest queens in the Nine Realms.

This . . . this was not the girl he grew up with.

"Sigyn, what's wrong?" he calls. They had always been close, and it was his voice that could always elicit a reaction from her.

She _does_ respond to him. Her head slowly rises, lifting from its low perch. Shoulders pull back slightly, fingers stretch out minutely . . . and he feels an involuntary shiver trickle down his spine. There's something . . . _wrong_ is the only word that comes to his mind.

Her head finishes its upward journey. Her hair parts back from her face . . .

Her eyes. Sigyn's eyes are a midnight blue, lightening to cascades of color when in the full light of the sun.

But Midnight slides away before his eyes. Beginning with her pupils and spreading outward, like liquid shadow or a putrid sickness, her eyes change into total, solid blackness.

"Concerned for your dear little friend?"

His heart turns to ice in his chest.

Sigyn's mouth moves, lips forming words that should not have been frightening. But the voice that comes with the words . . .

Her face twists into a hard, cruel smile, those solid black eyes makes his blood run cold. He feels he has never known true fear until this day. If that fear were only for himself . . .

"The Sons of Odin have indeed grown soft if the plight of one girl can affect them so. You both _have_ changed, as she has told me."

"Sigyn?" Thor calls again. In any other situation, he would make a cutting comment about his brother's lack of instincts. But this is no time for jests. His eyes are fixed on whatever this is in front of them.

She laughs again. Dark, feral, and dangerous.

"Nay, Thor Odinson. It is I." When neither of them reply, she continues with . . . he shudders. Those _cannot_ be Sigyn's eyes . . . "Can it be that you have forgotten me? It really is _too bad_ of you."

A deep, mocking voice. And somehow familiar . . .

"Who are you?" Thor demands angrily. She – he – IT – turns to regard his brother. Perhaps Thor is finally beginning to see the truth. But he must use this distraction to plan. He eyes her doubtfully, a dozen plans racing through his mind, and each are rendered useless.

"I am your reckoning," she mocks. "I am your destroyer. Your little friend has granted me the chance to speak with you again."

He stiffens. He understands now. It makes sense.

_Sigyn has been overshadowed._

"What have you done with her?" He keeps his voice quiet, soft, smooth as liquid glass. But beneath the surface he is trembling with rage and fear. Fear for his friend, fear for himself. Those black eyes turn back to him . . .

"Nothing. Yet." A maniacal grin spreads over her face, and the light of madness burns in those eyes as hot as the fires of Muspelheim. Her tongue passes over her parched lips, looking for all the world like a deadly serpent . . .

The air is suddenly alive with something he has never felt before; a tingle in his fingertips and the back of his neck speaks of the presence of magic. Sigyn has some skills in enchantment. Crude, rudimentary. They have played games together using these skills. But she can never match his ability in battle. But this . . . this is stronger, darker, burning hotter than anything she – or even he himself –could ever hope to possess.

Still ITS magic grows, stretches. He can see it in the terrible expression being forced on Sigyn's face. IT is searching, biting, clawing inside her, desperate to seek a way to launch itself at them.

Inhale. Exhale.

Calm. He needs to be calm.

"If your quarrel is with us," he whispers coolly, keeping his hands clenched at his sides, "then release the girl. Surely she is nothing to you."

Fire burns the air around them. IT is angry. Very angry.

"Ah, but alas, that is something I cannot do, little prince," she mocks. His eyes narrow, shoulders stiffen, back tightens. "Like all puppet masters, I cannot perform without a body to work with. Your father robbed me of mine. So, in turn, your dear little friend will lend me hers for a time."

Dark magic. The air reeks of dark magic. It clouds his mind, dulls his senses. His feet are frozen in place, his legs turned to stone, his arms so very heavy. He can't breathe. He can't fight.

And IT knows.

Without warning, Sigyn charges.

He is only just able to avoid her strike, her fingernails clawing the air inches from where his head had been seconds before. He is so close that he can see the veins in her arms, now glowing with a sickening red light. Searing heat sweeps past him, as if the magic locked in Sigyn's body had become living fire. Thor is the first to return the attack. Always the warrior. Always attack, attack, attack.

But can he bring himself to turn on his closest friend?

She easily sidesteps, Mjolnir flashing past her harmlessly. Flames are dancing in her black eyes. In ITS black eyes.

_He has no choice_.

He plucks at a string of magic, feeling it flow down to his fingertips, a living waterfall. Green-white light snaps from his hand, aimed squarely at her heart. It is not his most powerful charm. He won't risk hurting the avatar. But perhaps he could break its shell –

Sigyn is a blur, avoiding his attack as gracefully as a dancer. _She was always a graceful dancer . . . _

She flings her arm out with a snarl, and flames erupt from her fingertips.

He falls back. He is no match for her, and they both know it. Their eyes meet again, and he sees the rage, the intent of the other. Thor lunges forward. He is too slow for her.

_IT will use Sigyn to destroy them._

Thor lunges forward again, but her left arm slaps Mjolnir away as if it was made of wood. But her eyes never leave Loki's. Her right arm swings up and out too quickly for him to see. Black magic strikes back. He falls back with a sharp cry, clutching his hand.

IT knows Sigyn means more to him than to anyone else. IT will use that as its weapon.

_Sigyn will kill him first_.

He has to stop her. He has to stop IT. But does this mean he has to kill her to do it? If he kills her, he will go mad. If he lets her remain as the puppet, she will go mad. Either way, IT will triumph.

Thor swings again. But his strike is too high, too slow. He doesn't want to hurt her either. Mjolnir once again flies uselessly passed her.

At last, a chance. Her head is turned. She doesn't see him. He steps in close, gathering his magic once more to strike –

A flaming dagger appears from nowhere.

- And too late he realizes his mistake. She drew him in. IT was ready.

_He sees the blow coming, as if in slow-motion. He tries to twist away, but he is too slow, he can't stop – _

Armor shatters, green-magic flashes uselessly, and a scream is torn from his lips.

Pain. _Pain_. Blinding, searing, white-hot, mind-shattering _pain_. His voice fails him. He cannot scream loud enough, long enough. His skin is flaming, his eyes are burning. Rivers of fire spread through his side, eating up from his stomach to his heart. Torrents of blood spill over her hands as she digs the dagger deeper into his flesh. Deeper, deeper . . .

Until it pierces his soul.

Through it all, he hears laughter. Sigyn's ringing, mocking laughter.

* * *

Loki's eyes flew open, a scream caught in his throat.

Terror. Confusion. Pain.

_His world was nothing but pain._

For one horrific moment, he thought he was still living the nightmare.

But the room was dark. The room was empty. He was alone.

There was nothing to fear. Not anymore.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. He was trembling all over, a cold, clammy sweat clinging to him like the blood that had poured from his side. He felt sick, and desperately fought the urge to vomit.

His side was throbbing, remembering the searing pain of Avatar-Sigyn's claws tearing his flesh apart. And remembering the bite of that terrifying magic that had turned his childhood friend into a monster's puppet.

He sat up carefully, wincing, and looked down at his side. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief. The bandages glowed a soft white in the light of the midnight stars. They were clean.

It had been three days since he, Thor, and Sigyn had returned from their journey to Muspelheim. Three days . . . it could have been three lifetimes for all he knew. He had only been partially conscious, so his memories of their return were muddled and confused. The Healers had told him Thor had carried him back to the palace, wounded as he was himself, shouldering a burden far heavier than Mjolnir could ever be. It had taken two full days and nights before his mind was restored to his weakened body. And ever since it had, these nightmares had plagued his dreams.

What had taken control of Sigyn like that? What kind of creature could turn someone into their personal marionette, giving them powers that were far beyond their ability to control? They had met someone like that before, long, long ago. But the All Father had destroyed that monster.

Hadn't he?

It was still dark outside, but sleep was impossible. He needed to think. He needed time to reconcile memories with nightmares.

He sighed and rose carefully from his bed. The Healers would surely object to him taking a midnight stroll unescorted.

But they still saw him as a Prince of Asgard . . . and not even the Healers could disobey a royal command.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thor**_

His world crashes.

Loki falls as if in slow-motion, face white, fingers limp, eyes closing, a scream of pain becoming dazed silence. Armor shattering in pieces, scattering like glass. Blood gushing in torrents, like rivers of fire . . .

Sigyn casts him aside like carrion . . . and _laughs_.

"_LOKI!_" He hardly hears his own voice. His eyes are fixed on his brother. No movement. He lies as still as . . .

_No, please don't be –!_

"Come now, little prince!" she mocks. How he loathes that ringing, mocking voice . . . "Let's play some more! You're hardly making this a challenge for me!"

"If you've killed my brother -!"

"Oh, what _will_ you do?" Her face contorts into what, at ordinary times, would be a grieving expression. But those eyes . . . "Can you bring yourself to harm the girl? Are you willing to do whatever it takes to save your brother? Are you . . . _strong enough?_"

He wants to rip ITS throat out. Tear IT to pieces. Reach inside and grapple with this perverse thing and somehow make everything right again.

But he can't hurt Sigyn. He _can't_. He _won't_.

Movement catches his eye. Loki stirs, reaching painfully for his weapon. Hope flares up in Thor's heart; there's still time . . .

Their eyes meet.

_Help her, Thor_.

Sigyn looks down, carelessly kicks his brother's hand away, and drives her heel down on his neck. A convulsion, a single, sharp groan . . . then silence.

She smiles.

He snaps.

Mjolnir is a blur of motion, and for a wild moment he doesn't care. He gives in to the rage and hate and fear and desperation; battle is his balm, his solace. But this is no comfort, no game.

_It's a nightmare._

Sigyn matches his strikes, blocking every one with only her bare hands. Her fingers close on the hilt of Mjolnir, locking the two of them together. Searing heat washes over his hands, his face, his arms. Mjolnir is nearly torn from his grasp; her newfound strength is feral, savage . . . and utterly terrifying.

Another maniacal peal of laughter. IT can destroy him any time it chooses. IT has the power. IT has the hatred.

_IT's only playing with him._

Fear feeds rage. And his fear becomes an inferno.

He lunges forward, eyes like steel, jaw set. He has no choice. He has to stop the avatar . . . no matter the cost. He loves Sigyn. Loki loves Sigyn. But her life is secondary to the life of his brother. He lost him once; he will not lose him a second time.

Sigyn raises her arm. The blow is coming, fire meeting fire. Their eyes meet. IT knows he will kill her. IT has left him no other choice. But then . . . something happens. The blackness in her eyes lightens, and for one brief instant . . .

_He sees her. _

He hesitates at the last moment. Mjolnir's bite misses its mark. Fire burns the air.

The God of Thunder falls to his knees. Blood claws at his armor like living death.

Mocking laughter rings in his ears.

_His sanity collapses._

His eyes are blinded, a black curtain falling over him. His rage and despair are smothering him, driving him to madness. His body moves of its own accord, reaching, searching for something to calm the roar of hysteria in his mind. His fingers close on something soft, pliable. He grips harder and harder, channeling every hope, every prayer on this one desperate act.

The world is suddenly still. Breathless. Silent. Awareness comes over him like lightening.

His hand is clutching Sigyn's throat. Black eyes have vanished. Starless midnight stares back at him. Wide, terrified.

He lets go.

Sigyn collapses.

_It's over._

For one brief moment, he feels . . . relief. But only for a moment.

His gaze moves to the figure lying by his feet . . .

"_Loki!_" he cries. His brother doesn't move. Shaking hands grope blindly for his wrist, searching for a sign . . . _any_ sign . . .

The hand is cold. Cold as ice. Blood stains his fingers, burns on his hands. _Please, please don't be . . . _

A pulse beats. Faint, weak . . . but _real_.

"LOKI!"

A low noise: a ragged gasp.

There's still time. Time to get home. Time to change the inevitable.

"Heimdal!" he screams. Desperation is clawing at him as Sigyn had clawed him just now. "Heimdal! Open the Bifrost!"

Nothing.

Loki takes another painful breath . . .

_Please hear me!_

"HEIMDAL! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! I'M BEGGING YOU, PLEASE!"

Sigyn moans beside him . . .

Nothing happens.

_It's over_, a voice babbles in his ear. _It's over and nothing can help them now they're dying and it's my fault all my fault please don't die please hear me please . . ._

A quiver of power. A bright light. Rainbow colors –

_Heimdal!_

He is pulled up into the maelstrom, away from Muspelheim, away from the fire and the darkness and the terror and the anguish . . .

The Observatory whirls into sight. Broken images of gold and white. There are people all around, voices babbling, asking him things . . . he can't understand any of it. He is in a daze. His eyes are swimming, the world still spinning out of control . . .

For once Mjolnir lies forgotten and ignored.

He reaches for his brother. The Healers try to stop him. He feels himself shouldering them aside. He lifts Loki into his arms. He's so light, so pliable.

So cold . . .

But _alive_.

Blood is pouring over him like poison, eating into his flesh, his sanity. Loki's ragged breathing is oppressively loud in his ear. He imagines he hears words in broken gasps, as if he's trying to speak. But no words come. All his brother can do is breathe.

_Just breathe, Loki. You'll be alright. I swear, you'll be alright . . ._

He hears Sigyn behind him on the ground, making noises that sound somewhere between a moan and a sob. She is coming to her senses now, the reality of what has transpired falling over her like a heavy shadow.

_Breathe, Sigyn. Just breathe. You'll be alright, you will . . . I swear . . . you'll be – _

He sees her eyes widen, her mouth open . . .

She screams.

* * *

Thor's eyes flew open, a howl of rage welcoming him back into the world.

Hatred. Regret. Despair.

_His world was nothing but despair_.

For one horrific moment, he thought he was still living the nightmare.

But the room was dark. The room was empty. He was alone.

There was nothing to fear. Not anymore.

He sat up in bed slowly, breathing deep, trying to calm the raging throb of his heart as it pounded inside his chest. Though the dream had passed, fading into the shadows of the room, the memory of it clung to him like he had clung to Sigyn's throat. His fingers were still burning. He glanced down beside his bed. Mjolnir lay there, free of blood, of ichor, of anything that would have been evidence of his assault upon the creature wearing Sigyn's body like a disposable garment. But then, of course it would be. It was not his hammer that had dealt the blows . . .

He fought the urge to hurl it across the room. And with it his rage and self-reproach and guilt.

He had done what he had to do, he knew that. There was no other way he could have ended the trauma without killing her. He had assured himself over the last three days that it had been the only possible solution. But his conscience kept at him, hammering him over and over again with the memory of her wide, frightened eyes, the feeling of her throat constricted in his grip. He had never before used his strength to harm a woman. But he had no choice.

The memory of the ordeal filled his every waking moment. Stalked him as he sat by Loki's bedside, counting the slow rise and fall of his chest, praying that the next breath would come. Haunted him as he watched Sigyn lie in a fevered sleep, the bruises on her neck a glaring reminder of what he had done . . . what he _hadn't_ done . . .

This nightmare was not confined to the darkness of night. He had been living in it ever since they came back to Asgard.

It was still dark outside, but sleep was impossible. He needed to think. He needed to escape from dreams for a while, to let his mind wander over happier memories . . .

He sighed and rose carefully from his bed. The Healers would surely object to him taking a midnight stroll unannounced.

But he was the God of Thunder . . . and not even the Healers could hold back a storm.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Us_**

At last, a breath of freedom. He had nearly forgotten what it felt like.

Loki closed his eyes, tilting his head back a little, and let the cool night air wash over him. He let it carry away every dark thought, every guilty memory that his nightmares always brought. Taking a deep breath, he forced his mind to relax, to allow himself to be carried away by the stillness around him. For a long time he just stood there, listening. The rustle of the silken banners hanging in the colonnade behind him. The quiet, open silence of the balcony. The sound of his own slow, calmed breathing.

_It had been a long time since he had felt this way . . . _

He opened his eyes and soon found himself gazing up at the vast, glittering field above the city. The Asgardian sky. How long had it been since he had taken the time to look at it? Too long, he decided. Something about watching those tiny points of light had always been comforting. Even when he was on Midgard he kept looking up, as if he hoped to find some familiarity in that alien sky. But this . . . this was something different. Familiar stars wheeled overhead, glittering coldly in a vast, black sky.

_Or perhaps, not so black as it seems_, he reflected. It was only now, with the overwhelming glare of the sun hidden from the sky, that other lights and colors could be seen. Clouds of blue, green, and distant red, too subtle for the eye to catch at first, glowed softly overhead and along the horizon. Faint auroras and remote nebulas of the cosmos that would be impossible to see in the bright light of day.

_Some things can only be revealed in the darkest, stillest times of sleepless nights._

"Can't sleep?" a low voice called from his right. He stiffened for an instant, reflections forgotten, and then turned with a slight, ironic smile.

"It would seem that I am not the only one," he replied, only a hint of sarcasm in his voice. There was a rustling movement from the shadows behind the colonnade, and in a moment the speaker had stepped out into the open air.

_Sigyn. _

How on earth he could have overlooked her, sitting on one of the benches near the far end of the row, he had no idea. Unlike him, she had never been easy to overlook by anyone. Least of all him. _There's not many people who can sneak up on me . . ._

She walked out towards him slowly, with only a hint of the regality she so often portrayed. Her bare feet made no noise on the cold marble tiles, her simple white gown fluttering softly in the cool breeze. She seemed to be almost glowing . . . almost. It was only when she was a few paces from him that he saw that she had not been at all well as of late. Her face was drawn and pale, paler than he had ever seen in his life before. Her midnight eyes were almost black in the dim light, but they lacked the cheerful brightness he remembered so well. They were dull and tired-looking, translucent windows behind which a great pain was lurking. Her long hair, which at ordinary times would spill over her shoulders like liquid light, now hung limp and lifeless down her back; it was more like unpolished gold, forgotten and neglected. It looked as if she had been through a severe illness rather than a great struggle in the netherworlds.

She drew level with him, and for a moment they just looked at each other.

Sigyn knew that she looked no better than he did . . . although he was much better at hiding pain and weakness than she was. Ever since they were children . . .

She had seen him walk out of the house, lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to the world around him. His steps were slow, measured, like someone who is weak and unsteady but wishes to hide it. His black hair, longer than she remembered growing up, hung about his shoulders, swaying in the breeze like living shadow. He was pale, almost transparent, looking more like a ghost than a living person. Then again, he had been like that ever since he came back to Asgard, a mere shade of his former self. Unlike her, he had taken the time to dress before coming out of the house; he had always been so concerned about his appearance – one more endearing, exasperating trait of his. Beneath the long green cloak thrown over his shoulders, she could see the soft white glow of linin bandages; the wound itself was hidden from sight _(like he hides all of his wounds_). But his _eyes_; those bright, sharp points of light like living ice, cold, steady . . . and _nearly _unbreakable. A shield against the universe, hiding pains and memories that maybe she would never know . . . those eyes were _almost_ the same as she remembered.

"What are you doing up?" Loki asked quietly. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"I could ask you the same question."

"I needed a breath of air."

"As did I."

"You should be resting. The Healers would not be pleased to find you had left their care."

"Imagine how they would feel if they learned a _Prince of Asgard_ had done the same." His expression soured, but he didn't argue on that detail this time.

"Go back inside."

"May I remind you _I_ was here _first_."

It should have been funny. They both should have laughed. Or at least smiled. They would have, once upon a time. But now, they merely gazed at one another, each trying to read the other's thoughts.

After a pause, Sigyn turned away from him, leaning her arms against the balustrade, turning her eyes towards the glittering city expanding out below them.

"You had a nightmare." She had said it as a statement, not a question. He felt himself bristle at that . . . but only a little.

"Nightmares are for children," he replied defensively. She shrugged: a quick, minute tensing of her shoulders, a slight tilt of her head.

"You always _were_ a child, Loki," she jabbed. Again, it was meant to sound like teasing . . . but Sigyn was not smiling. Instead, she sighed. "Well, I suppose you're not the only one."

Loki frowned and looked down at her. She was still staring over the city, but he could tell that she was looking at nothing. Her eyes were unfocused, gazing at something he couldn't see, a haunted expression on her haggard face. She looked ten times older than he remembered, as if she had aged a millennia in only three days. He didn't like it.

As if she sensed him watching her, Sigyn quickly looked down. Her hair fell in front of her eyes, hiding her thoughts from him. She was looking at her hands resting on the balustrade, which were clutching the stone so hard the knuckles turned white. Even that could not hide the way they trembled.

He resisted the urge to ask her what was troubling her. Even Silvertongue knew when to be silent. So he waited.

"It still burns, you know," she whispered. His frown deepened at that. He could hear a well of emotions in that tone, emotions she had never expressed before. It was such a cryptic statement, and so unlike anything Sigyn would ever say, that he wasn't sure what to make of it. There was a long stretch of silence.

"What does?" he asked finally. She must not have heard him.

"I can't stop thinking about it," she whispered. "It's like my mind refuses to let me forget. The dream may be over, but they still burn."

"_What_ does, Sigyn?" he tried again, maybe a little sharper than he intended. She took a long, shuddering breath.

"My hands," she said simply. "Magic like that is frightening enough as it is, but . . ." She finally looked up at him, and there was such a look of pain in her eyes that his own heart ached for her against his will. "Loki, there's blood on my hands and I don't think I can ever be rid of it."

He paused. But she needed to talk about it.

"Tell me," he murmured.

For a brief moment he thought she would protest, choose instead to retreat back to the house. But only for a moment.

"Loki . . . do you know what it's like . . . what it's like to have someone inside your head? Make you do things against your will? Play with your mind, make you watch yourself commit horrors that it knows will haunt you forever?"

"Yes." The simple answer. There's no need for him to elaborate. They both knew.

Sigyn took a shuddering breath.

"I've never experienced anything like it before. It wasn't just my body it was controlling. It . . . it took my mind, my consciousness, everything that made me who I was and twisted it; my thoughts became mirror images of its. I remember saying and thinking things that didn't belong to me; it was . . ." She looked up at him again, fear dancing in those midnight eyes of hers. "It was like being paralyzed, inside and out, watching someone else take my place." She glanced down again, shivering. "I don't ever want to go through that again."

Loki wasn't sure what to say, or if he should even say anything at all. But he felt he ought to offer some kind of assurance. There was a long, almost awkward pause.

"Well . . . it's over now, anyway." Inwardly he grimaced. What kind of a stupid reply was that? But Sigyn smiled sadly and gave his hand a quick squeeze. She understood the intention.

"I suppose so," she murmured.

Their conversation died away into silence. Loki wasn't certain if he should say something else or not; but it felt awkward to just stand there and not talk. He and Sigyn had always been comfortable with each other, easy conversation becoming almost second-nature. They hadn't even needed to talk about anything in particular; somehow, just being in each other's company was enough. But that was a long time ago, before . . . before things changed. And since he had been brought back to Asgard, the two of them really didn't talk much. It was one of the things he had missed about this place, though he would never admit it to anyone.

_He hardly felt like he belonged here anymore . . ._

"So, _here_ you both are," a voice said from behind. "I thought I heard voices."

Both of them turned, startled. Loki's jaw tightened, a frustrated, angry knot clenching his stomach. He was really getting careless if . . .

Thor had quietly come forward out from under the colonnade, arms folded across his chest.

He had listened to their conversation for quite a while, watching unnoticed from the shadows of the colonnade. It had seemed natural enough, but he could hear in the uncomfortable pauses in their talk that neither was at ease. In his youth he would have dismissed it as unimportant, would have come forward and spoken with them. But something held him back for a while. He just stood there and listened – _really_ listened. Loki's voice changed when he spoke with her, the bitterness and anger almost disappearing, sounding more like his old self . . . and for the first time in his life Thor felt . . . jealous. Sigyn always had a special connection to his brother, something he would probably never understand.

_But that didn't mean he didn't envy it._

"You couldn't sleep either?" Sigyn asked him with a rueful smile. He shook his head, coming to stand on her other side.

"Probably for the same reasons neither of you could." He looked down at Sigyn, concern furrowing his brow. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

She looked up at him, trying to smile. But there was a threat of tears in her eyes.

"Yes. Yes, of course I am." Even to Thor's trusting ears it was clear that was a lie.

To Loki it was even more obvious.

"Sigyn," Thor repeated in an even gentler tone.

"I'm alright, Thor," she replied. But after a moment she shook her head. "No. No I'm not alright. But I will be . . . in time." Thor didn't answer; he just watched her. She seemed to be struggling with some internal war; Loki could see varying emotions flashing across her eyes, like a violent windstorm trapped behind fragile glass. It could break out at any moment.

For a long time, there was silence.

"You have nothing to blame yourself for," Thor murmured quietly. Loki half-turned to look at him. Thor's eyes were turned towards Asgard, and although he didn't make eye contact with her, it was clear who he was talking to. Sigyn's jaw clenched, her fingers tightening on the cold stone.

"Even if you had known what was happening, you did not have the strength to fight that kind of magic," Thor explained. "You cannot understand –"

Loki's head whipped around, his dark glare silencing the conversation. _Don't speak of that! Not now. Not ever._ Thor gave him a puzzled look, but mercifully, he didn't ask any questions.

The mute warning went unnoticed by Sigyn. Her midnight eyes were fixed on something neither of them could see.

"I wish I had never gone with you," she whispered. "If I had just stayed here in Asgard where I belonged, none of this would have happened."

"Sigyn, no harm has come from it," Thor pointed out gently.

Sigyn whirled on him, her sudden rage burning the air around her. Thor took a startled step backwards, and even Loki felt himself pulling away from her.

"No harm?" she hissed. "_No harm?_ I could have killed either of you! I nearly did! It would have been all too easy. I have never felt that kind of power before. And I _liked_ it, Thor! In that moment, I _wanted_ it! Wanted it and hated it! _I_ did! Not that . . . that _thing_. Do you realize what that made me? _A monster!_ I wasn't the same person I am now!"

"Sigyn, calm yourself," Loki interrupted. He didn't like where this was going.

But it was too late. The fragile glass cracked, and the windstorm began.

"And that's not the worst of it!" she bellowed. "The worst of it was that part of me enjoyed it! Enjoyed every second of it! I _wanted_ to hurt you! I _wanted_ you dead! I don't know why, I'll never know why, but a piece of me wanted to do it with my own hands!" Anger vanished, leaving horror in its wake. "I can't forget that. I will never be rid of it."

Her eyes glazed over, leaving Asgard far behind. A shadow passed over her face, draining every last bit of color that was left. It seemed to both Thor and Loki that her mind had left them and traveled back to Muspelheim. The same wide eyes. The same terrorized expression. The same frantic, panicked breathing. She was reliving the nightmare. She started wringing her hands, over and over again with an unconscious, feverish energy, as if she was trying to wash away the stain of the memory.

"I can't stop it," she cried. "It won't let me. The blood. There's too much blood! It won't come off! It won't come off!" She was backing away from them now, her voice rising to a frantic scream. "_Get it out! Get it out of me!_"

Loki's concern quickly turned to alarm. Without thinking he seized her by the wrists. Her skin burned beneath his fingers.

"Sigyn! Look at your hands! _Look at your hands!_" he bellowed, shaking her like a disobedient child. The shock of his voice seemed to pull her back from the nightmare; her eyes came back into focus, and though there was terror etched in every line of her face, she looked at him now like one newly awakened. But her eyes didn't move from his. "I said _look at them!_" he ordered, jerking her arms up until her hands were at eye-level. Her wide eyes moved from his to the hands he pushed into her face. "There's nothing there. _Nothing!_ Do you understand me?"

He only wanted her to snap out of it. He wasn't trying to hurt her, or frighten her. But he saw that he had done both. He found he was griping her wrists just as tightly as she had clutched the balustrade a few minutes before. He had shaken her much harder than he meant to. She was crying freely now.

It had been so long since he had to offer anyone comfort. It was a foreign concept to him now. _Inhuman monster_, a voice hissed in his ear.

"Sigyn, it wasn't your fault," Thor said quietly. "You did not know what you were doing." His voice was gentle, sympathetic. Loki felt his jaw clench at the sound. He would never admit it, but he was always envious of the other's capacity for compassion. Another foreign concept to Loki Silvertongue.

"Actually, I think I did," Sigyn answered in a frightened whisper. "I remembered all of it. Every word it put into my head, every move I made. If it had overshadowed me completely, at least I would not have remembered what I did. But it made me watch, made me do it." Though she was answering Thor, she never took her eyes off of Loki.

"Listen to me, Sigyn," he broke in sternly. "_That was not you_."

"But I –"

"Did you try to stop it? _Would_ you have stopped it if you could?"

"Yes, but –"

"Then it wasn't you." He abruptly let go of her wrists, flinging them down and away from him. "Stop blaming yourself for something that was not of your doing."

She was staring at him as if she had never seen him before in her life.

"I hurt you, Loki," she whispered. "I could have killed –"

"_Enough!_" he shouted. Sigyn winced as if he had struck her. He sighed. He was only trying to help. But even his best efforts seemed to fall flat.

"Loki . . ."

"Enough, Sigyn," he repeated, softening his voice. Then, acting on impulse, he pulled her into a tight embrace. "Enough."

At first Sigyn felt stiff in his arms, as if she was uncomfortable or unsure of herself. But after only a few minutes she melted against him. She clung to him like a frightened child, crying into his chest. He let her. He didn't need to say anything, and he knew he shouldn't say anything. He simply held her, stroking her head as if by habit. Suddenly, he didn't feel as useless as he did before.

It wasn't long ago that their places had been reversed, where Sigyn had been the comforter . . .

Loki became aware of a pair of eyes on him. He looked up over Sigyn's head to find Thor staring at him hard. There was an odd look in his eyes, as if he wanted to say something but knew the timing was poor. Loki returned the look, feeling his gaze harden reflexively. He could guess what was running through his broth - Thor's mind, and he wished with all his soul that he would just keep his mouth shut.

It was a long time before Sigyn had quieted, calming down enough to gain control of her emotions again. Her eyes, when she looked up again, were red-rimmed but her tears had since dried. She seemed calmer, more relaxed, reconciled to herself at least for the moment.

"Don't think about it anymore, Sigyn," he said quietly. "Go back inside, get some sleep."

"I'm fine now, Loki," she assured him. But he shook his head firmly.

"Go on. I mean it." He cocked an eyebrow at her sarcastically. "Or are you really going to refuse a royal command?" She gave a low, derisive snort, the ghost of a smile touching her face.

"You haven't pulled rank in ages, Loki. I thought you said you _weren't_ royalty."

"Never you mind. Go on." Sigyn shrugged her shoulders and reluctantly turned away from them both.

It wasn't until she had vanished under the shadows of the colonnade that Thor spoke.

"Does she know?" Loki shook his head slowly, his eyes still on the place where Sigyn had disappeared.

"I didn't tell her."

"That may not have been wise, Loki."

"Whoever said I was wise?"

"She deserves to be told the truth," Thor insisted, frowning.

"The truth would destroy her," Loki cut him off angrily, turning to face him. "You saw the state she worked herself into just now. Her mind has already been damaged by what happened. If I told her the truth it would shatter her completely."

"Is a lie better than the truth, brother?"

"I'm not your brother, remember?"

"_Is it?_"

Loki sighed in frustration, leaning against the balustrade.

"No matter what, Sigyn cannot know what really happened in Muspelheim."

"Loki -"

"I'm doing this to _protect_ her, Thor!" Loki shouted. Thor's mouth snapped shut. "Would _you_ tell her the truth? She's not _your_ friend, remember? I know her better than anyone in Asgard, and _I_ know what's best for her."

"You lie to protect her?" Thor asked. Loki rolled his eyes, exasperated.

"Didn't I just say that?"

"She will find out the truth sooner or later."

"Perhaps."

"Will she forgive you, do you think?" Loki shrugged, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable.

"When she learns my reasons, yes, I think she will." There was a pause.

"Why, then, can you not forgive our fath-"

"_Your_ father."

"- _Our_ father . . . for doing the same?"

Loki's anger froze, feeling a horrible sensation of his stomach dropping to his feet. A lump formed in his throat, and he suddenly found he couldn't see clearly.

"That was different," he insisted.

"It was no different, Loki," Thor replied quietly. He was using the same gentle tone he had used with Sigyn only a few minutes ago. Loki clenched his fists. "Odin lied to protect you from those who would say that you were not his son."

"I'm _NOT_ his –!" The words caught in his throat as he realized what he was saying. He turned away with a muted snarl, avoiding Thor's knowing gaze. "Well, it's true, isn't it? I'm not."

"Yes, you are, Loki. You are a Son of Odin, a Prince of Asgard . . . and my brother. A family is not defined by bloodlines alone."

"He should have told me the truth from the beginning," Loki hissed, blinking rapidly. Why wouldn't his vision clear?

"Perhaps," Thor agreed, watching him. "But perhaps he knew that the truth would break you."

Loki kept his gaze out over the city, trying hard not to look at anything in particular and especially trying not to let that lump in his throat work its way out. Thor was wrong. He was _wrong_. His lie to Sigyn was NOTHING like Odin's lie to him.

Wasn't it?

For the first time in years, Loki felt his anger slip, his resolve waver. A sliver of doubt and self-reproach had wormed its way into his mind.

Frigga had once told Loki that his eyes always betrayed his feelings. It was the Silvertongue's weakness, allowing his eyes to carry his emotions. So now, Loki made sure to keep his gaze away from Thor's.

"Think about it, brother," the other said quietly. "In time, perhaps you will come to understand." He watched him for a few more seconds, then turned away and walked back toward the house. Leaving Loki, once again, alone.

Alone with his doubt.

Was he doing the right thing? Should Sigyn be told the truth about what happened on Muspelheim? Lies were second-nature to him, almost as natural as breathing. He could lie to anyone without so much as blinking. But Sigyn . . . something in his stomach twisted at the thought of deceiving her.

_Should_ he tell her the truth?

No. A piece of her innocence had been lost on Muspelheim; he would not let any more be taken from her. But . . . still . . .

_"Is a lie better than the truth . . ?"_

Unbidden, a memory came to the forefront of his thoughts. An old memory. A _painful_ memory . . .

_"You could have TOLD me what I was from the BEGINNING_._ WHY didn't you?"_

_"You're my son. I only wanted to protect you from the truth . . ." _

"That was different," he whispered. "That wasn't the same." Odin had taken away his life, his purpose, his family –

_"A family is not defined by bloodlines alone . . ."_

He shivered, pulling his cloak closer around his shoulders. Suddenly it was too cold, out there alone in the open. He didn't like to be alone.

_But he would always be alone . . ._

He turned his back on the city. He couldn't look at it anymore. For the first time in his life, he welcomed the sweet release of sleep.

_And still the stars wheeled overhead . . ._


End file.
